


Your Eyes

by midnightdown (sailorsuga)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Minor Violence, Underage Drinking, Underage Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-11
Updated: 2015-11-11
Packaged: 2018-05-01 04:51:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5192978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sailorsuga/pseuds/midnightdown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>‘Your eyes, your eyes. I can see in your eyes.’ There's a lot of things Louis doesn't get to experience until he meets Niall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> (2010/11 Steph): Okay so this is actually something I’ve been working on since February but, meh, writer’s block and I couldn’t finish it. But I got hit with some inspiration so I finally got around to it. Hope it doesn’t suck too much. Inspired by Make Me Wanna Die by The Pretty Reckless.
> 
> (2015 Steph): This was my 14/15 year old's way of writing something "edgy" I guess lol ya'll already know I hate all my writing from back then, I can't say anything nice about it. There's mentions of self-harm in here so if that triggers you, please don't read this story. There's spelling/grammar errors as per usual. Also, please don't kill me because I'm positive I didn't portray depression/self-harm correctly in this story but I was 14/15 and didn't research things very well at all. I like to think I've improved since then.

_Taste me, drink my soul_

_Show me all the things that I shouldn't know_

_And there's a new moon on the rise_

_\--_

Louis’ never seen black eyes before he met Niall.

He’s seen dark brown to the verge of pure black and gray but never pitch, honestly black eyes and he thinks that’s what drew him in in the first place.

And the small murmurs and whispers of the rumors that he heard swirling around the school halls that Niall Horan used to have vibrant sapphire eyes seemed to come back to the front of his mind as he watched the boy stumble into the classroom.

Niall doesn’t speak when he shakily hands in his tardy note to the teacher who accepts it with slight annoyance which he just barely hides with a crooked smile and Louis watches as the blonde boy shuffles to the very back of the classroom. Louis catches a glimpse of his ebony eyes glued to dirtied tiled floors and the fragile hands on the, now raggedy, straps of his book bag shaking nervously.

Louis’ first thought is he’d be fun to mess with.

+

Louis’ never smoked before he met Niall.

Because it was disgusting and risky and unattractive and Louis was anything but those things.

But Niall did it in such a distinguishable, amazing way that he guessed he could change his mind.

His lips were pink when he bothered to look; pouty. The kinds that were typically described as “kissable” in novels and cheesy romance films and he felt slightly guilty for thinking it but he couldn’t find it in him to stop staring at them as they held a small, burning little cigarette in between them; drooping a bit to the corner of his mouth where Louis could see a small bruise from God-knows- what.

He had a ghostly sort of appeal, if that made sense.

As he approached the boy, leaning up against the wall and lighting a new cigarette absent-mindedly—as if he had been doing it for years—and tossing a couple of pebbles across the field nearby, it began to surface to mind that nobody really knew what Niall did outside of school.  When that final bell rang, it was like Niall Horan had disappeared completely. He didn’t have friends; not even associates that were available to tell you and no one saw him catch a bus or walk in any direction. But Louis doubted anyone would know otherwise.

“Can I have one?” Louis asks.

And he can tell without having to try very hard that Niall thinks it’s a joke; whether it’s the little snort he lets slip out of the side of his mouth or the cocked eyebrow; he doesn’t believe him.

And Louis doesn’t blame him, really.

He’s aware of what he looks like; what this would look like to people passing them by; some preppy boy with new Toms, suspenders, and perfectly straightened hair with not so much as a strand out of place asking someone like Niall Horan for a cigarette.

Niall Horan who walks around school with a hunting knife in his pocket; Niall Horan who’s late for every class on every day of the week; Niall Horan with the dead black eyes and pale, paper skin.

Yeah, he was out of place.

“You don’t smoke.” Niall says with a little laugh at the end and Louis frowns a little in response.

“How would you know?” he tests and the smirk on Niall’s face disappeared just as soon as it had arrived and Louis could feel fearful chill run up his spine but he pretended he didn’t.

A snarl begins to grow on Niall’s pouty lips and he sneers his next reply.

“Because I know people like you.” His eyes seemed to get darker, if that was possible. “Now fuck off.” He damn near orders and it’s more like a warning to Louis than anything.

But, contrary to what’s passed around the halls, Louis was never one to follow orders or warnings of any sort. Perhaps he should start, though.

And maybe the next move he made was a stupid one—a completely idiotic one that could fuck up everything and maybe the smart thing to do was to leave and do what Niall said but he doesn’t.

Because he didn’t really think he could stop himself anyway. Not with those eyes boring holes into him the way they did.

So he takes it upon himself to take the halfway empty box that had been lying at Niall’s side and take a cigarette himself, placing the cancer stick between his lips. And he can see the shocked and mesmerized look Niall gives him as he slowly bends down to his level; looking straight into hazy ebony eyes and he mentally confirms that they are, in fact, pitch black and he’s hypnotized for only a few seconds when he thinks he see a faint hint of indigo flicker in them until he lights his cigarette with Niall’s.

He lets the smoke fill his lungs and, as his eyes begin to water at the unfamiliar burning sensation, he lets out a weak cough that makes Niall smirk again.

But he lets him have another one.

+

Louis’ never seen cuts before he met Niall.

He’s heard about them in books and television—even seen actual pictures of them—some healing while others were fresh—when he strays to the wrong part of the internet but he’s never seen them up close and personal, to the point where he could reach out and touch them and feel the rough scar.

Not like he’s ever wanted to but it was just sinking into him that it wasn’t a myth.

After that first cigarette, Niall had given him another one. And two cigarettes turned to three and around the fourth one, Louis had stopped coughing and hacking and the next day, Louis meets him in the same place, same time with just as much defiance and challenge in him as the first meeting and Niall decides to “put up with him for a while longer”—his words not Louis’.

 He shows him how to blow perfect little rings of smoke in the air the next week—“just out of boredom” he grumbles and Louis still messes up—transparent rings eliciting from Niall’s lips in a way that mesmerized him and smoke just coming out in plain little ribbons for him but still he tries—if for any other reason just to prove to Niall that he can.

And the week after he shows him how to sneak them into the school—since they get checked at the doorway and how to keep them at easy access—and where to buy the best kind at.

_“The ones at those gas stations down the street are shitty. You probably wouldn’t be able to tell but if you’re going to get some, don’t even think about going there. I’m pretty sure the clerk fucks with them anyway.”_

Louis’ pretty sure this is going to hurt him in the long-run but it starts to become relevant to him that he’s actually holding conversations with Niall Horan without getting a punch in the face; so he decides it worth it for the moment.

Besides, he likes messing with him.

He’s found new ways to fuck with him now—as messed up as it sounds. But that was the plan anyway, wasn’t it. Mess with him; see what makes him tick. It was a game he played when he was bored and Niall was the perfect little play-toy. He doesn’t open up much but it’s the little things that make him see the sapphire flicker through the ebony.

If you get too close to his face—like when Louis lights his cigarettes, he never takes his eyes off Niall’s and he has to refrain from smirking when he sees a little red blooming in his face before he pulls away.

If you touch him, he flinches back from you—like a disease and sometimes, and only under his breath, he’ll let out little curses or gasps that make Louis snicker. He still isn’t sure what makes him do it but it’s amusing to watch to say the least.

But, as he lets out another little winding ribbon of smoke, he forgets about the game for a minute.

“Here.” Niall grumbles around a newly-lit cigarette and Louis looks down at what the boy is holding out at him and he sees a green lighter in the boy’s pale fingers. He smirks a little when he sees the words  _‘Born Lucky’_ carved in the front of it beside a four-leaf clover.

“Missing Mullingar?” he asks Niall and the boy gives him a sideways glare. That was another thing that pissed Niall off; Mullingar. He doesn’t talk about it often but everyone knows that’s where he’s from. And no one ever mentions it. Ever.

“You gonna take it or not?” he asks, blowing some smoke out of the corner of his mouth and Louis shrugs playfully despite the slight surprise he was feeling. No punch?

“Maybe,” he says. “I think I like the other way better though.” He sends a cheeky smile Niall’s way and he can’t help but note the considerable flush that manages to creep its way onto Niall’s face as the boy averts his eyes, Louis following them slowly. They’re foggy now; unreadable.

“You’re fucking difficult.” He mutters, bringing his hand down and shoving the lighter back in his pocket in an annoyed fashion, black eyes hazy and he turns to Louis, using his lips to poke the cigarette out some more and Louis catches his first glimpse of the little puckered pink and red lines on Niall’s wrist for a split second when he pulls his hand from his pockets, his long sleeves rolled up a bit.

He leans forward to light his cigarette before speaking again.

“Cat scratches?” he mutters just loud enough for Niall to hear, and despite the nervous thoughts racing in his mind, his voice was completely cool.

“Sure,” Niall murmurs as he rolls up his sleeves quickly and Louis swears he can see some sort of cobalt glint in the boy’s eyes as he folds his arms, hiding his wrists from Louis’ view.

Louis doesn’t speak on it further but he does think.

_Fucking liar…_

+

Louis’ never gotten drunk before he meets Niall.

And despite the alcohol hidden in places that his mom seems to believe are totally out of his reach, he’s never been tempted to try it either.

He’s aware of its effects and its obvious popularity—especially amongst his classmates, his best friend Harry to name one, the boy always managed to stink of some sort of alcohol when he arrived at school and Louis’ still stunned the teachers are fooled by that charming smile of his when beer is damn near radiating off of him—but he’s never wanted it. And it’s not because he wanted to wait, like some kids who took those educational “DON’T DO DRUGS” videotapes they showed you in primary school seriously, or he didn’t approve of it; he just didn’t see what was fun about drinking something that turned you into either a slut, a violent asshole, or an absolute idiot depending on what kind of drunk you were. Things like that never really appealed to him or were even mildly relevant in his mind.

But one day Niall brought it into consideration—not like he had a choice in the matter.

His black eyes seem lighter today for some odd reason or another and Louis has to blink twice before brushing it off as a trick of the light. There’s a mysterious bottle in his hand and Louis is reminded briefly of green eyes and curly brown hair when he can smell the familiar scent of alcohol on him and, while he usually scrunches his nose up in disgust when he smells it on Harry, he hardly seems effected when Niall approaches him, bending down to his level—hesitantly Louis might add and he sends a knowing smirk his way.

Niall ignores it but his cheeks are red.

Louis’ winning.

“You know what this is?” Niall asks and when he waves the glass bottle around in Louis’ face like a person would do a bone to their pet dog, he nods, and goes with it.

“Alcohol.” He states almost like he’s answering a question in science class and the little pause Niall has after he answers causes red to blossom onto his face for once.

“Such technical terms, Tomlinson.” He still didn’t call Louis by his name; his first name anyway and Louis supposed it’s because he still didn’t consider them friends and maybe it shouldn’t have bothered him, but he couldn’t stop the little sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. But he only returns it with nicknames of his own until Niall finally called him Louis, which he would eventually. “Nialler” and “Leprechaun Boy” to name a few; each one of them causing Niall to turn that lovely shade of red—anger or not, Louis got a point in his mind.

“Whiskey,” Niall murmured as he slid down against the brick wall beside Louis, their knees just barely brushing against each other. “Irish whiskey.”

Louis raises an eyebrow. “What’s the difference between Irish whiskey and regular whiskey?” he questions skeptically and Niall only lets out a low chuckle.

“It’s just better.” He replies and Louis notices the boy strays away from reasonable answers often but doesn’t bring it up.

He takes a long swallow from the bottle and Louis watched mesmerized, his lips just slightly parted in soft ‘O’ shape unknowingly to either of them as a little of it trickles down the side of Niall’s lips and he licks it off greedily just before it can go any further, smiling a bit in satisfaction.

He’s still stunned by that little action as the cuts become visible again when Niall extends the bottle to him and he doesn’t show the sickening feeling he’s having when the boy speaks.

“Your turn.” He says blankly, as he does everything, and Louis gives him a cynical glance.

“You expect me to drink after you?” he asks him, his tone incredulous as Niall shrugs in response. Louis notices that nothing seems to really matter to Niall—nothing that happened around him was of any importance. The color in his eyes never changed; never flickered and the corners of his mouth never curled into a smile or droop into a pout—everything stayed just as lifeless and uncaring as his ebony eyes.

 “Why not?” he asks, snapping Louis from his thoughts, his tone sounding as if it’s so normal and Louis snorts before blowing out a ring of smoke that he had finally gotten the hang of doing after weeks of trying—if only to best Niall.

“Yeah, not happening.” He scoffs in that tone that Niall so tauntingly began dubbing as “bitchy”; not like he cared, not really.

“The cigarettes are one thing; that’s another.”

It’s silent for a moment before Niall draws the now halfway empty bottle back to him and Louis supposes he goes back to drinking it by himself when he can hear what’s left  liquid plopping to the bottom of the bottle loudly as Niall chugged it down.

What happens next catches him off guard.

“Dude!” Louis shouts when Niall snatches the cigarette from his mouth and tosses it into the grass without any warning. When Louis turns his head to glare at him, his expression obviously demanding an explanation, Niall’s face stays solemn but his eyes flicker with something Louis can’t quite read.

And it’s honestly frightening. Louis knows this is his game, but Niall has this intimidating air about him—whether it’s the dead eyes or the glimmering hunter’s knife in his pocket, Louis doesn’t know what it is.

 And before Louis has a chance to make a smart little remark—anything to piss the boy off for turning the tables on him, Niall’s hand is tangled in his hair, fingertips brushing against Louis’ scalp and pulling forward and their lips smash together quicker than Louis can process.

Needless to say, he’s dazed. So much that he doesn’t even dare to move; barely even breathing as his wide, startled blue eyes stare into Niall’s teasing dark ones; it’s like they’re looking into him and Louis feels way out of his comfort zone—where he’s vulnerable and the play-toy and where Niall’s eyes are smirking at him in awareness of that. They seem to be almost challenging him to pull away but Louis doubts that even if he wanted to, that he could with the death grip Niall has on his, now messy, auburn hair.

He makes the mistake of gasping when Niall bites his bottom lip and before he knows it, Niall’s tongue is flicking against his and the taste of Irish whiskey is spreading throughout his mouth like wildfire.

When he lets out a small little whimper of protest, he can practically feel Niall snickering into his mouth; creating little vibrations that send chills throughout his body and he grabs onto the collar of Niall’s shirt to keep from moaning—he wouldn’t give Niall anymore satisfaction than he was having right now.

He doesn’t really count this as officially getting drunk but he can feel his eyes beginning to close all on their own and his body beginning to go limp as Niall sits down the bottle and wraps his arm around Louis waste, his fingers teasing the few centimeters of bare skin between the top of his jeans and the hem of his dress shirt with the tastes of smoke and Irish whiskey filling all of his senses.

Niall pulls away right before it can escalate any further and Louis gasps at the feeling of fresh air.

“What was that about not drinking after me?” he whispers and Louis can’t even give him a proper smack after that.

+

Louis’ never really had secrets until he met Niall.

Louis Tomlinson didn’t have things to hide; no dirty lie he’s ever told in the past or some crazy stunt he did and never spoke of again. Everything he’s done is out and the open and what people make of it is entirely their concern; not his. He got rid of secrets because it was too much work trying to keep them.

But what he and Niall do after school is strictly confidential.

They don’t speak to each other in the halls; they don’t sit too close in the classes they happened to have together; they didn’t even so much as glance at the other if they happened to be in the same place—alone or not, nothing happened between them behind the steel doors of the school. Here, they weren’t even alive to each other—not relevant or important at all.

And it was a bit of a silent agreement, there was no day when Niall or Louis just got up and said, “Hey, don’t tell anybody about this.” Or “Don’t talk to me at school.” It was just something that they just kind of did automatically and neither of them really objected, just went with it and when the final bell rang, they were both behind the school, talking around the cancer sticks in their mouths and going back and forth in this little game that only Louis knew about.

And Louis never really thought much of this little routine until Harry—fucking, drunken, trashy idiot Harry Styles—decided to fuck with it.

“He’s kind of weird, isn’t he?” Harry said to Louis under his breath one day at lunch.

It had been a week since the kiss and Louis was still recovering.

They both sat at the circular table in the corner of the lunch table, it was the broken one with a crack going down the middle, symbolizing the riot that had occurred here a few years back. Louis supposed it was “their” table so to speak but he thought it was only because no one else wanted to sit at it. It started with only him and Harry until the middle of the year and the other two chairs seated at the table became occupied.

Eleanor Calder, ex-cheerleader and Louis wouldn’t have even spoken to her, even acknowledged her existence and probably just brush her off as another whore like the rest of them if it wasn’t for the fact that the only reason that she was an ex-cheerleader was because she punched the quarterback, the fucking quarterback of the football team, for flipping her skirt. Louis had respect for girls who didn’t take shit like that, so why not sit with her?

Liam Payne was another regular as well and if Louis had any word to really describe the kid, it’d be fidgety. He kept a permanent blush on his face and, ever since he cut his much longer curly hair, it was more visible and Louis could make more fun of it than usual. He wore his flannel shirts buttoned all the way to the very top and Louis was sure, that if it wasn’t for Harry living next door to him, he’d show up at school with his pants up to his nipples and little red suspenders to make it all the worse. His hands shook in a way that reminded Louis of a certain little black eyed devil as he lifted his carton of milk to his lips.

Louis took a deep breath, averting his eyes before his thoughts went to a place they were not supposed to wander to.

“Who’s weird?” he mumbled, curling up his lip in disgust as he poked at the cold spaghetti on his tray absentmindedly to which Eleanor snickered at.

Harry motioned his head to somewhere across the cafeteria, a small smirk almost identical to Louis’ appearing on his lips, as Louis followed where he was looking.

“Niall?” he questions and his heart thumps a little at the realization that he just called the boy by his first name with such familiarity.

He’s mentally praying that no one caught that but it’s obvious luck isn’t on his side today as Eleanor and Harry’s eyes immediately snap to him, clear shock and confusion in them. Liam is too engrossed in trying to figure out who Niall was to even acknowledge Louis, thankfully he thinks.

“You know him, Tomlinson?” Eleanor asks and Louis flinches a little at her tone. He liked Eleanor, she was his friend and at one point—when he was twelve and just discovering the female species—he had small crush on her but it faded after about a year (and when she punched him in the face after he asked her out but that wasn’t important).

But the way she spoke and how she, like someone he knew, refused to call him Louis made images flash through his mind and he bit his lip to keep from showing what he felt.

“No,” he lies, voice calm and smooth from years of lying to his parents thanks to Harry’s influence. “I just heard his name before, that’s it.”

Eleanor nodded but he doubted she believed a word that came from his mouth but he was fine with that—as long as she didn’t bring it up anymore. Harry shrugged it off similar to Eleanor and spoke up again.

“Yeah, him. He’s a little strange, isn’t he? I don’t think I’ve ever seen him talk to anybody.” He mutters and Louis, knowing Harry since diapers, knew it wasn’t at all because he cared—more like intrigued much like the way Louis was and still is.

“I’m sure he talks to some people.” Louis says, pushing the tray of cold food away from him and what he says wasn’t a complete lie if he thought about it. He did talk to him after all.

“I doubt it,” Eleanor scoffed. “I heard he cut the shit out of Zayn with a fucking hunting knife or something when he tried to make a pass at him.” Louis saw a little grin beginning to play on the girl’s lips as she recalled the incident.

Her and Zayn never did get along; not since primary school when he cut off one of her pigtails in art class and him pushing her off the monkey bars two days after sure didn’t help the relationship one bit. And, even now, they’ll bicker in the hallways and classrooms—anytime they saw each other, shit just blew up and everyone kept their mouths shut unless they wanted to get dragged in the middle.

Louis could hear Harry chuckle under his breath and he noticed that he never took his eyes off the boy not once the entire time. He didn’t know what it was but he really didn’t like the look in his eyes.

“Interesting…” Harry mumbled, charming and mischievous smile coming into full view and Louis didn’t notice how tight his grip was on his fork until he felt an icy cold hand fall on his arm and it slipped from his fingers, bent slightly.

His eyes met Liam’s concerned, brown ones and he couldn’t help but imagine black as the boy began to speak, just loud enough for Louis to hear as Harry and Eleanor were distracted.

“Are you okay?” he whispers and Louis’ heart is thumping in uneven beats as his breath hitches.

_His eyes_

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “I’m fine, Liam.” He turns his head to avoid looking at him any further, the inside of his lip bleeding from biting it to refrain himself—from what, he still wasn’t sure.

He could almost feel the pout forming on Liam’s face before the boy lets it go, pulling away and, while Louis is positive it meant absolutely nothing, he could feel Liam drag his fingertips across his skin as he does and it causes butterflies in his stomach.

+

Louis’ never was really unsure of anything before he met Niall.

Of course, there were some algebra problems he got stuck on for about ten minutes on his homework every once in a while and there were the  few times where he had to do a double take before he could clearly understand whatever the hell Harry was slurring when he staggered in his house at god-knows-what-time in the middle of the night—or maybe it was the early hours of the morning, he couldn’t tell anymore. He just knew if his parents were awake, they’d be pissed.

But, it was the other things that he never had to question.

Like his feelings about things—was he in love, who was his friend, could he trust this person or where he was going in life; what he wanted to be, what he wanted to do. Everything seemed so obvious to him and so simple to answer, no questions, no hesitation.

He guessed he just kind of had it all figured out from the start.

It was kind of inevitable with the way his parents hammered down on him all the time. Being the oldest meant setting an example; being responsible; being something he wasn’t just for the sake of image.

_“Your sisters look up to you.”_

_“Don’t disappoint me.”_

_“You’re the oldest, act like it.”_

He could feel his teeth sinking deeper into the flesh of his lip as he thought about it.

And, to be completely truthful, it never really bothered him until now.

It never really mattered to him that they basically threw everything on him and just expected him to mature and become this amazing, flawless, do-no-wrong young man that he supposed they always wanted to claim as their son and he took the responsibility without much protest or issue but, as of recent, it was becoming harder and harder to maintain it.

He wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol messing with his brain cells like the public service announcements always said it would do or if it was just those typical teenage issues that he saw and heard of on TV and in the never-ending gossip of the student body finally, finally hitting him after sixteen years but his mind felt hazy about everything—school, friends, family, reputation—he didn’t know what he was doing or even thinking anymore now and he felt lost.

And his only solace could be found in the only person to blame—because certainly it was never Louis’ fault, was it?

And even then, he didn’t know what the hell he was doing.

The next time he saw Niall, he could see his eyes glinting with something unreadable—a cross between mischief and anger and what could only be perceived as lust—which one, it wasn’t sure but it made his heart thump in both fear and anticipation.

He almost felt the need to turn around and run away right then and there when he the crunching sound of the gravel underneath his Toms made Niall turn his head—he was never startled, never jumped or particularly surprised and was always calm about everything despite his fragile appearance.

He took a nervous gulp as dark eyes began roaming over him; examining him like he was some sort of science experience from his russet hair to his poker-face scowl and disheveled school uniform and Louis felt funny under his stare.

But, in his mind, this was still his game so he continued to walk closer as he always did since Niall had this thing about personal space and Louis loved to piss him off.

He kept his face just as emotionless as Niall’s but Louis didn’t know if it was perfect due to the million emotions he was hiding behind it.

“Your hair is messy today.” Niall states when Louis slides down the wall and takes a concrete seat on the ground beside him, just close enough so their knees are touching and Louis isn’t aware that Niall doesn’t flinch anymore.

He snatches a cigarette from Niall’s pocket and lights it with a lighter this time much to Niall’s interest and surprise.

“I couldn’t find my straightener, sue me.” He grumbles in reply to Niall’s earlier statement, blowing smoke out of the corner of his mouth as Niall stifled a laugh poorly, smirk still forming on his face.

Louis gives him a skeptical glance.

“You’re awfully chipper today, Leprechaun Boy.” He mutters, earning an uncaring shrug from Niall.

“I’m not allowed to be?” he questions and Louis almost wants to blurt out “NO! BECAUSE YOU NEVER ARE! THAT’S MY FUCKING JOB!” but decides that’d be a bad idea so he shakes his head instead.

He notes the air is pretty awkward with them.

“No, it’s cool.” He says and it’s an obvious lie as he holds his hands up in defense. “Just a bit…weird.”

He mutters the last part but Niall visibly catches it as an unfamiliar smile etches onto his face, lighting it up in a way as Louis can clearly see all the features in the boy that he had missed before. His skin isn’t as pale and white anymore—like a ghostly porcelain, it’s tanner now, not too much but enough and he can see little red freckles along the bridge of his nose and the strawberry blonde bangs of his hair poking out from under his cap as Louis notices he’s let it grow.

But most of all, Louis swears he can see cerulean blue in his eyes.

He blinks before it’s gone.

“Yeah, I guess it is.” Niall replies around the cigarette and it’s silent for a brief moment between them, Louis still mentally pondering what he just witnessed, before he speaks up again.

“Your friend had a little talk with me, today.” He states, the tone in his voice casual and blank. Louis’ feels something inside him twitch when he says that but he follows along.

 “Which friend?” he asks, tone perfectly identical to Niall’s but he’s pretty sure he has a good idea.

“The curly-haired one,” Niall says. “Harry, I think. He’s quite the flirt, isn’t he?”

Louis isn’t sure what it is he feels building up in his chest but his knuckles are turning white as he clenches his fists and he’s pretty sure he’s about to tear the cigarette in his mouth from biting so hard.

“He charmed you, huh?” he asked and he tried to make it sound like a joke but it came out more gritty than he intended.

“Nah,” Niall says after a while, dropping his cigarette to the ground and stepping on it, rubbing it into the gravel with blank eyes. “Not my type, to be honest. He’s cute though.”

Louis’ doesn’t know why he’s so surprised when Niall says that; it is Niall of all people and he thinks maybe it’s because Harry always gets what he wants and he could literally charm anybody but he’s gaping.

“Not your type, huh?” he laughs and Niall nods, a small grin on his face—no doubt from the whiskey he’s drinking beginning to loosen him up but it still makes Louis’ hear thump just a little bit.

Mischief is flickering in Louis’ eyes now as he remembers all the things that make Niall blush and he scoots closer to the boy, his hands moving discreetly up his arm and a devilish grin plastered on his face as he whispers the question into his ear.

“What is your type then?”

He can’t help the little satisfied chuckle when Niall shivers. He knows Harry could never do this.

Louis decided to count this as payback for that little unannounced kiss Niall managed to slip in on him a few weeks back but he’s caught off guard when Niall begins to snicker before rasping his reply in a voice that made Louis’ breath hitch.

“Maybe that little cute cheerleader he brought with him.”

Eleanor’s image flickered in his mind for one split second before he reacted thoughtlessly; hooking his fingers under Niall’s collar and literally slamming the boy into the brick wall behind them. He’s only slightly fazed by the chinking noise he hears as soon as Niall makes impact into the wall and the blade he can feel against his Adam’s apple.

They’re glaring at each other for a long while—words being spoken through their eyes but not voiced with their mouths—before Niall breaks it and Louis takes notice that his eyes looked darker than he’d ever seen them.

It gave him chills.

“What’s your deal, Tomlinson?” he almost sneers and Louis returns it with a question of his own.

“What’s yours, Horan?”

It’s about to be another stare-down before Niall begins to smirk.

“You’re jealous…aren’t you?” he seems almost close to laughing after he asks the question and Louis can feel the nerves in the pit of his stomach going crazy now but he doesn’t show it—not much anyway.

“Jealous of what?”  He plays dumb.

Niall’s snickering now, a bitter kind of edge to his laugh before he speaks again, tone low and teasing.

“You like Irish whiskey, Louis?” he taunts and Louis knows exactly what he means.

His eyes grow wide and as he pulls his hand back, fist clenched and he’s not even thinking anymore as he brings it down full force.

The knife swipes at his face and there’s a brief stinging sensation on what feels like his cheek before he releases the boy and slaps his hand onto his face.

When he draws back, there’s a long crimson stain in the lines of his hands; reddening his fingerprints. He glares at Niall immediately and the boy is just grinning at him, obviously proud of his work.

Louis remembers he looked like that when he cut Zayn too, but Zayn’s cut was far worse.

“Fuck you!” he shouts as he feels blood trickle down from his cheek and Niall cocks his head.

“What time?” he responds and Louis doesn’t even have a clear reply to that as he just gapes at him.

There’s about a foot between them as they just glare at each other, Niall’s clothes now dirty and unkempt from the dirty school wall and Louis’ grip on them and the red liquid from Louis’ gash was now dripping onto the concrete, mixing in with the rainwater that had yet to fade in the potholes on the concrete.

Louis isn’t sure who made the first step and shortened the distance between them but he felt as if his game had truly began to twist and turn into something else.

He doesn’t even try to stop Niall when he rubs his thumb across the cut, the salt from his fingers making Louis flinch but he doesn’t move his hand away at all.

Louis can’t see the expression in his eyes because he’s refusing to look at him, his head turned and big blue eyes glowering at his reflection in the puddle. He looks like a mess; worse than he ever has.

“That hurt?” Niall’s tone sounds somewhat concerned but his hand feels nervous on Louis’ skin, shaking slightly.

Louis takes a slow glance to what he can see of the little slits on Niall’s arm, darker now and some having faded but they were still scary to look at.

“Probably not as much as yours.” He murmurs and Niall doesn’t even try to hide them now, just gulps a little as he lets Louis fingers trace over the cuts on his wrists.

“…I’m sorry.” He whispers and Louis nods in reply; maybe an apology of his own but they don’t speak on it.

“…What’s going on here?” he asks, and he isn’t sure why he thinks Niall would know—like he had all the answers but Louis supposed someone had to.

They just had a fight, so to speak—Louis was bleeding right now and Niall probably had bruises on his back from the impact it made with the brick and now they’re touching like none of that just happened, like they were friends, like they actually gave a damn. They weren’t supposed to care.

Louis felt sick.

This was crazy; all of it.

“Not sure,” Niall replies honestly, shrugging as he did so. “You wanna stop?”

When Louis doesn’t respond, still staring at the cuts and mind racing with thoughts that maybe he should’ve considered from the start, Niall tries again.

“Louis.”

Louis blinks before his eyes go wide at the realization that Niall didn’t call him “Tomlinson” and he whips his head around to face Niall, seeing his dark eyes again which looked softer now, lighter and mesmerizing him and making him feel weak so he responds. He still isn’t sure whether or not he regrets the answer.

“No.”

Louis feels drunk again when Niall pulls him in.

+

Louis’ has never been anything but a winner until he met Niall.

And the realization doesn’t hit as hard as he thinks it would.

_His hands trace over the cuts again the next time they see each other. And they’re both marked up this time with purple bruises decorating their necks and even more hidden by their clothes and Niall only flinches a little bit at the sudden touch._

_“You never told me where these came from.” Louis says to him, voice sounding intrigued and he’s noticed that they’re fading now to a soft pink that almost blends in with Niall’s skin tone._

_“You never asked.” He replies and Louis glares at him._

_“Well I am now.”_

_Silence. Then a sigh._

_“It’s stupid but,” Niall starts, setting down the whiskey bottle and finally rolling up his sleeves to the elbow where Louis can see each and every one of them—angry, jagged red and brown lines from the wrist up and it made his stomach sink._

_“I was pissed at everything. I hated school and I hated people; the feeling was obviously returned. I didn’t know what else to do and there was a razor right there so, why not, right?” he laughed bitterly at that and Louis averted his eyes. He felt sorry for even asking now._

_“But I don’t need to cut anymore, so, it’s not even important now.” Niall adds casually, picking the bottle back up and bringing it up to his lips._

_It was silent as Louis pondered what Niall said, watching his movements as he always seemed to do with blank eyes and his lip between his teeth thoughtfully._

_“Why don’t you need to cut anymore?” he finds himself asking—just out of curiosity he thought._

_Niall pauses for a moment, swallowing the last bit of the alcohol before dropping the bottle, a piece of it cracking but not shattering completely._

_He smirks._

_“Because I screwed you.”_

_And despite its obvious double-meaning and Louis’ cue to hit him, Louis couldn’t help but gasp at the sight of sapphire blue—the blue he heard about in songs, in books, in movies—in Niall’s eyes._

_Louis didn’t have time to wonder if it had been there the entire time or if this was some sort of magic before the taste of Irish whiskey was back on his lips._

_His last thoughts were that he had actually lost._

 

**Author's Note:**

> I don't like this but if you do, thanks I love you ok


End file.
